


You've Got a Friend In Me

by bookgirl86



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, BDSM, Bondage, Canon Divergence - Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Daddy Kink, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friendship/Love, M/M, Multi, Novel, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:06:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23865736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookgirl86/pseuds/bookgirl86
Summary: Sam Wilson learns that he's Captain America's ("Call me Steve already, we're friends now.") only friend in DC. But after Steve learns about some of Sam's hobbies, will Steve still call him friend?----------A Captain America: Winter Soldier era story that is cannon divergent/AU. Features an exploration of BDSM community as a path to rebuilding connections for our characters. Follows Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers, and Natasha Romanov as they learn to forgive themselves and make room for more genuine connections with others.
Relationships: Sam Wilson/Original Character(s), Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers/Original Character(s), Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Anticipated multi-chapter fic, definitely a work-in-progress. Updates will be sporadic. Posting chapters as they are written, un-beta'd. Errors are mine.

Sam Wilson was becoming used to collapsing under trees anytime Captain America (“Really, Sam, you have to start calling me Steve. We’re friends now.”) joined him for a run. Though “joined” is being generous; Sam would be out to put in a few miles to keep his head clear and every few minutes he’d hear the now familiar “On your left!” as a figure in athletic gear blew past him. They rarely coordinated a planned run, but once or twice a week, Captain – Steve—would appear shortly after Sam hit his stride and they’d end up chatting under a tree or on a bench afterwards. Last week they’d even managed to grab a fast lunch which was when Steve made it plain that he counted Sam among his friends.

Today saw Steve slowing to a pace that Sam could match for a few blocks before coming to a halt by one of the few trees lining the National Mall. Sam lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face before reclining back against the tree trunk. He raised his chin, tilting a grin up at Steve, “You slowing down in your old age?”

Steve flashed a grin of his own before shaking his head and dropping to the ground as well. “Nah, just thought I’d see what it was like to run with a friend instead of leaving you in the dust all the time.”

Sam shoved him, to little effect, before closing his eyes and breathing deep. Late spring in DC was already humid and made outdoor runs even more of a struggle than usual when he pushed himself to perform better in front of his new friend. He kept his eyes closed but pitched his voice in Steve’s direction. “How’s your week been man? Thought I saw you leaving one of our peer sessions at the VA one day but I didn’t make it out in time to catch you.”

Steve sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face, stretching his jaw and rotating his head left and right a few times before answering. “Yeah, I was there. I appreciate you introducing me and all, it is a reminder that I’m not the only one who’s returned from war to a life that I don’t recognize. The first sessions were better, well not better, some of the stuff these soldiers faced abroad and when they returned was brutal, but I guess you could say I related more.” He stopped speaking, letting his chin drop to his chest before rolling his shoulders up and back to release some of the tension that had been building the last several days.

Sam opened his eyes and turned to look at Steve. He recognized the tense muscles, the slight hunch settling in to his friend’s shoulders, the rapid shift of Steve’s eyes despite the relatively easy groups of tourists and locals enjoying a day out in the park. Keeping his tone conversational, Sam asked, “What was different this week?” He started stretching his lower body out while staying seated, both to avoid muscle cramps and aches later, and to keep Steve low to the ground and talking.

Steve cut his eyes over to Sam and tried a half-hearted smile. “I see what you’re doing there. I’m not one of your patients you know.” He arched an eyebrow and gave the slightest chuckle when Sam rolled his eyes and muttered a low, “Whatever man.”

Steve took a deep breath and sighed back into the tree. “This week’s theme was about relationships and stress management. Lots of folks talked about having partners leaving them while they were deployed, others about issues they had with PTSD after coming back and how that was affecting their partners. I suppose I’m just wallowing a bit and feeling ridiculous for being envious of people in such rough situations because at least they have or had people to be in struggle with. I’m used to being alone you know, so it’s caught me off guard recognizing that I want to have people in my life.”

Sam stared at him, not quite holding his breath. He rubbed the back of his neck before speaking. “Damn Cap, that’s a lot of feelings to process. I’m impressed that you’re able to open up about it so soon after that session.”

Steve laughed at that. “I didn’t figure it out on my own. Got lucky that a friend phoned and she’s pretty stubborn at the best of times. She helped me sort out that it’s going to take work to build a life in this time, especially being who I am, but that I did have people. Reminded me that making friends is a good place to start _Sam._ ” He offered a pointed look to Sam when he said the name, a not so subtle reminder about being called by his own. “Talking to my friend on the phone helped, but she’s traveling at the moment, won’t be back for a bit. She basically said she’d hand my ass to me if I didn’t go hang out with “real live people Rogers, I know you know some”.” He’d pitched his voice up at the end, mirroring Natasha’s bossy tone.

Sam smirked. “So I’m supposed to count as real live people then Steve? I’m honored, truly,” he replied, resting a hand over his heart. “Real talk though man. Do you have people? Anyone else local, or kids or grandkids of your old community?” Steve turned his head away and looked out over the Mall at the clusters of people walking or jogging in the direct sunlight, smiling and laughing as they moved about. Sam watched him watching the others. He was familiar with the looks; loneliness and longing were hard to miss.

“No Sam, I don’t. I tried tracking down anyone from the old neighborhood when I first got settled. It wasn’t pretty.” Steve shook his head to clear the memories of endless obituaries and dead ends. He’d visited enough cemeteries and mausoleums to last a lifetime. “I had a few good conversations with some of the other soldiers at the VA, but as soon as we weren’t talking about our time in service I was once again “Captain America” and no longer just one of the guys.” He shrugged his shoulders and looked Sam straight in the eye. “Sam Wilson, you are my real live friend. I hope you don’t mind that I join your runs.”

At this he turned almost bashful and Sam realized the stakes of this conversation. He was one of Captain America’s, no Steve Rogers, only friends. He tried to keep his face in order and coughed a bit before replying. “Well Steve, you’re more than welcome to keep joining my runs. If you ever want to slow it down to pace me and talk while we run, that’s an option. Even in my prime I couldn’t match you, so it’s up to you pal to adjust the pace.” He cracked a grin, hoping to lighten the mood a bit. It seemed to work, seeing as Steve was smiling again too. Sam stretched his arms up over his head before standing. He looked down at Steve Rogers, known to the rest of the world for being Captain America, but now seeing his friend first. “You have plans this weekend?”

In the weeks since Sam and Steve had truly begun running through DC together, they’d talked about family (Sam saw his twice a year but called his momma every Sunday), television (Steve still couldn’t believe the variety of stories and all of the colors), and music (what’s wrong with a record player, Sam?). They seemed to cover most every topic, except for relationships. Steve mentioned Peggy once before clamming up and hardly talking for a week. Sam didn’t have anything positive to share of his own experiences, not ones that he thought Steve would understand, so they mostly let it go. That was the crux of it though, Sam did have experiences and a community of people he saw at least once or twice a month, but Steve was still managing with phone calls from his traveling friend and Sam. He never mentioned anyone else.

They’d begun returning to Sam’s or Steve’s place after runs to eat or sometimes watch a movie that Sam insisted included necessary contemporary cultural knowledge. Sam had just sat down on his sofa, Steve on the other end, popcorn and trail mix parked on the cushion between them, movie previews scrolling past, when his phone rang. “Shit,” he muttered. “Hey man, I gotta take this. Keep watching, I’ll be right back.” Sam took his phone and strode into the kitchen.

Steve watched his friend walk into the other room, worried about the set of his shoulders and the concern he could hear evidenced in Sam’s voice as he spoke lowly into the phone. While most of Steve’s enhancement had been related to his physical size and abilities, he could, when pushed, strain his hearing and vision to extend his reach. He was just being a good friend if he decided to keep a closer than usual ear to Sam’s conversation, right? He angled his head to catch a better listen.

“Ralph, Ralph, hey, you gotta breathe for me so I can understand what you’re saying. That’s it, that’s a good boy, just breathe.” Sam was crooning into the phone, in a tone of voice that Steve had never heard him use before.

Without staring directly, he tried to get a better look at Sam’s posture and was curious to see him with squared shoulders standing at his full height radiating tension, all in direct contrast to the tone of voice he was using with whoever this Ralph person was on the phone. Steve quickly averted his eyes as he caught the next thing Sam was saying. “Don’t worry baby, Daddy will be over soon, just keep breathing deep like that for me. If you feel up to it, go ahead and take a hot shower. I’ll text you once I park and I’m on my way up, okay? Okay, see you soon.”

Steve carefully kept his eyes on the television screen waiting for Sam to return to the room. After several minutes with no sign of his friend, Steve fully turned and called out for Sam’s attention. “Hey Sam, everything okay?”

Sam was standing in his kitchen, arms resting on the kitchen counter, head hung low and his breath coming in forced controlled patterns. He lifted his head when Steve approached, watched as he leaned a hip against the counter. “Sorry man, I didn’t hear you. I need to raincheck the movie though, I gotta go take care of something. I can drop you near your place on my way?”

Steve looked hard at his friend, noting the way he was standing, not making eye contact, and seemed to be buzzing with too much energy. “Sam, I couldn’t help overhearing some of your call. Do you want to talk about it? I know we’re usually talking about my issues, but friendships go both ways. I get that you may not have trusted me enough yet to talk about your son, but I’m here to help if you need it.”

Sam snapped his head up and watched Steve’s face carefully, letting out a long held breath when he saw nothing but genuine concern crossing his friend’s face. Sam deflated against the counter. “Cap—Steve, I appreciate that, but it’s not that simple. I don’t have a son, or any secret children. But I do have someone who needs me. Let me drop you off at yours, I’ll try to explain some on the ride.” Sam didn’t wait for a response before turning and walking into the living room to shut down the television system and grab his shoes and keys.

Steve watched, feeling a rise of confusion settling over what he thought he knew of his friend. He followed Sam out of his home and didn’t know what to expect from the conversation they were about to have.


	2. Chapter 2

_“Hey Rogers, you better be taking my advice and be out on a date with that nurse across the hall. Otherwise I have to assume you’re ignoring me and that’s not what friends do is it? Catch you soon.”_ Steve used his index finger to firmly press the red button on the phone screen to end the voicemail call. Sam had laughed at him for being so deliberate when interacting with the device (“It’s just a phone man, you crush it then you get a new one.” Sam didn’t understand that technology like this is so far beyond what he could imagine from his youth, let alone considering it a replaceable convenience.), but Steve couldn’t help being careful with his things. It’s who he was.

The recorded message he’d just heard was from Natasha, logged earlier that day. He had ignored the call when it first came in, too deep in his own thoughts as he’d been since his conversation with Sam over a week ago when his friend had to duck out of their afternoon movie to go help his…friend? Lover? Partner? He took a deep inhale, sunk lower into the armchair in his living room, and did a slow neck roll, dropping his head over to his left shoulder before making the full circle back to center on the exhale. He’d needed to center himself often these last few days.

Calls from Natasha usually were good for waking him up from wherever, or whenever, his thoughts had wandered. Steve appreciated her continued presence in his life, reminding him that it was possible to connect with someone so firmly from this time and of such differing views on everything from technology to morality, all the way down to whether chocolate or vanilla ice-cream was the best (“Rogers, where have you been? Rocky Road is what makes life worth living!”).

He wasn’t ready to be brought out of his thinking when he recognized the phone device buzzing earlier that day. Steve knew he needed more time to understand what Sam had shared about his relationship, about what this Ralph was going through and why Sam needed to be away for a few days. At the most fundamental level, Steve understood taking care of your loved ones without hesitation. It was everything else Sam tried to share, acknowledging that the timing wasn’t good and the circumstances were rushed. (“We’ll make time to talk when I’m back Steve, I know you probably have questions. Just promise you won’t try to use the internet to find things on your own.” “I actually thought I’d go to the library for help.” “Steve man that’s even worse.”)

Words like control, sensation, release, trust all rattled around in his mind. Others like bondage, dominance, sadism, masochism, these left him unsettled and withdrawn. Steve leaned his head back against the seat rest and rubbed his fists against his eyes. Was Sam really into these things? Was Steve himself so out of touch with the world he now inhabited that these relationships were the going thing now? How was he expected to ever date anyone, or heck, make another friend, if his comprehension of what made a good match was so out of sync. He knew he had judgments mixed in among the thoughts, but Steve also knew that he had no context to even be sure what it was he felt compelled to judge.

Maybe he should call Natasha back. She wasn’t the internet or a librarian. And sure, she usually called him, not the other way around, but Steve was learning that friends considered spontaneous phone calls an acceptable practice. He pushed the button to activate the screen of the device, navigated to the call log and pressed the telephone receiver symbol next to Natasha’s missed call entry. He heard the artificial ringing begin as he raised the phone up to his ear. The line clicked, Natasha’s voice pitched into a mix of concern and curiosity, “Rogers? What’s wrong?”

Steve took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and managed to keep his voice steady while asking, “What do you know about this thing called BDSM?”


	3. Chapter 3

Silence.

Natasha held the phone away from her ear to look at the screen, make sure it wasn’t a misdial. The call display clearly showed “Captain Hot Pants”. Lifting the phone back to her ear, she could hear accelerated breathing coming across the line.

She needed to say something, but what do you say when the perennial boy scout straight out of the do-gooder history books calls you up asking about kinky sex. What does he even know about sex period?

“Steve buddy, I’m gonna need you to say that for me again.” There, the ball was back in his court and she could buy herself 30 more seconds to figure out where she needed to position herself in this dialogue.

Steve’s voice carried through the line with direct force, “Just what I said Nat. BDSM, what is it?”

She stalled again, “Where’s this coming from Steve? Not the sort of thing you just stumble across.”

“Just something a friend said the other day. I was warned to stay off the internet and not to ask the librarians. I’m trying to get a handle on this.” Steve sounded exhausted. She made the decision swiftly, trying to honor the spirit of his question if not the exact question itself. Definitely time to lighten the mood too, this is starting to sound too serious for a sex talk.

“Well Stevie, sometimes little boys and girls play house, or grocery market, or doctors. Other little ones decide that the good girl has been kidnapped and tied up by a villain!” Natasha gasped this last bit out for dramatic effect, following it with a wicked villainous laugh. "Mwahahahaha!"

“But then the captured good girl, she escapes and uses the ropes to tie up her villain instead! And around and around you go. Sometimes those same children go on to become international spies with expensive hobbies and a penchant for role play. Takes all types. What’s got your panties in a twist?” The question lost all light-hearted affectations, delivered direct and unflinching.

She waited. She could hear footsteps through the phone, first one, two, three, a rustle of fabric; another one, two, three, four steps, and a pause. Pacing then.

“Nat, is this stuff normal? I mean, I know I missed a lot being on ice and all, but—” Steve’s voice dropped off.

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Okay Princess, I’m not sure how you decided I’d be the best one to talk to about this, but who do we know that’s normal? It’s a useless construct. Also you totally tried to look on the internet didn’t you? How else do you know this stuff could be anything remotely deviant, huh?” She waited him out again, catching fewer sounds of pacing and more controlled breathing.

“I tried to look but the results were very, uh, graphic, and not much at all like what my friend described. I’m trying to be a good friend, trying to understand.”

“You’re a good friend Steve for trying to figure this out, but you probably need to talk to this friend instead of me if you want to know what this means to them. I can tell you some general info, or about my own experiences, but it wouldn’t be the same." She paused, mentally running through her current calendar of jobs. "There’s a chance I’ll be neighborly again soon, want me to drop in?” she offered, already mapping out shifts to logistics for her next deposit to take her closer to DC.

“That'd be great. But back up, you have experiences?” Steve sounded both skeptical and interested.

With an eyeroll, she laughed and said “Yes Rogers, I have dabbled in having some experiences in my lifetime. I thought that’s why you called.”

“I called because you’re my friend and I needed a friend. I suppose the rest is luck. I’ll look for you soon then, don’t make it too difficult to pull you out of a crowd this time, yeah? Be safe.” The line clicked.

“Well damn son,” Natasha exhaled, staring at the dark screen of her phone. If that wasn’t the strangest conversation she’d had in months. Time to get to business thought if she was going to be rerouting to another city. Calls to make, bags to pack, covers to revisit.


	4. Chapter 4

He hadn’t set out to make a routine. It seemed that after awhile some of the novelty of waking up in the 21st century had worn off, lost its shine, and really he was a creature of habit. Routines meant control, meant he could anticipate what to expect in his surroundings, could breathe a little easier. Steve waved at his downstairs neighbor, an older gentleman, who was exiting to the street as he approached his apartment building’s entrance. He didn’t know the man’s name, but they spoke about the weather sometimes and the traffic, about the influx of tourists to DC now that the weather was warm and families were on spring and summer breaks. It was enough.

Every few days Steve visited a branch of the public library, skimming books on all manner of topics to acquaint himself on what he’d missed. Popular fashions were full of novel patterns and rapidly diminishing skin cover; a few films Sam had recommended were moving, but the music is what got him. He’d catch snatches of radios from passing cars, from headsets people wore on the street, and the best were the street musicians near the metro stations and museum steps who played on overturned buckets and other found instruments. Today’s music, even yesterday’s music he supposed, was so far removed from the sounds of his youth that he had no choice but to be present.

During his last library visit he’d learned of a series of events at the Kennedy Center, the performing arts center named for a president he’d only read about. Each day, in a designated area of the center, a free performance was offered for the public. All he had to do was show up, collect a ticket, and live the experience. This afternoon’s performance was an ensemble of Afro-Cuban drummers and he could still feel the rhythms beating in his chest. Maybe it was his heart.

He used his keys to unlock his apartment door, letting the quiet and near darkness surround him. Hairs prickled along his collar and the faintest whisper of movement to his left is all the warning he had before a body slammed into his, legs in a vice grip around his hips to make him lose his center, and arms caught around his neck trying for a choke hold.

Steve let the movement carry them to the floor, dislodging one of his attacker’s legs on the way down and shift his own grip to unlock the hold on his neck. On the floor, he managed to use his larger size, as it was now apparent he had several inches and a substantial mass advantage over his attacker, to loosen their grip and get them pinned to the floor.

He felt the body under his hands and knees try to buck free; he increased the pressure. His attacker grunted before huffing out a resigned, “Missed you too buddy. I’ll get the drop on you eventually.” Steve shifted his grip, recognizing Natasha’s voice through material she’d used to cover her face and hair. He considered relinquishing his hold, but instead held it a moment longer than necessary, keeping Natasha’s body pinned to the floor. He leaned so his head was closer to her ears, but still maintaining his grip, and taunted, “You can try,” before using his hold on her to raise her to her feet.

The first and second beers were long gone, but the third bottles were still chill and starting to sweat. Steve’s landlord had mentioned the thermostat and air-conditioning when he moved in but he hadn’t yet figured out how to work it. Besides, the warmth in his apartment wasn’t so bad with the windows open and the ceiling fan spinning. Natasha had sprawled out on his sofa after losing the spy gear for more casual jeans and shirt, enthusiastically agreeing to take out from the pizza place around the corner.

“All right Rogers, we’ve been dancing long enough. What’s eating you?” Natasha had shifted on the sofa so her back was against the armrest and she was facing Steve’s chair where he’d draped himself after collecting their latest round of drinks from the kitchen.

He kept his eyes trained on the label of the beer bottle, something about a dog from a local craft brewery. “I tried taking your advice, you know, not about chasing the nurse across the hall, but about finding friends. Turns out it’s not so easy finding shared life experiences with your random city goer if you’re a guy like me.” He glanced up at Natasha, who just waved her hand at him in a motion to keep going.

“I’ve got Sam now, you met him once. We’re running buddies, he’s another soldier turned civilian. He’s found a way to make a life for himself, has integrity, and mostly manages to just treat me like Steve and not Captain America.” He stopped talking, shifted the bottle in his hands before lifting it to take a long drink.

Natasha rolled her eyes and said, “I sense a but coming.”

Steve knew she could wait him out. Part of being a successful spy and assassin is patience and knowing when to seize your moment. He sighed. “It’s not a but, not really. He shared something I’m not sure he was ready to share, and I’m not sure I was ready to hear. And now I can’t shake it. I’m worried because he’s my friend and it seems like he’s having a hard time with someone he cares about. I’m not sure how to help because I’m distracted about the way he talked about the relationship.”

Natasha shifted her position on the sofa so she was more upright, leaning into the conversation more intently. “This is where the BDSM call came from, yeah? It’s something your friend is involved in and he couldn’t really give the 101 talk to you because he’s got a situation. Am I getting this right?”

Steve just nodded and drank more of his beer.

“Okay then. And you don’t know how to help because while you’re Mr. Fix It this is a lot for people who are not living out of sync with time, let alone someone whose idea of a hot night out is ballroom dancing and a soda pop on ice.” She quirked an eye brow at him when he scowled at her teasing. Steve knew she wasn’t wrong, but it didn’t get him any closer to what he can do.

“So how do I help?” he asked, looking Natasha straight in the eye. “You said you know things, know people. How do I do this?”

Natasha was slow to respond, her gaze mapping is micro expressions and overall body language. Steve resisted the urge to shift in his seat.

“Tell me something, Steve. Is this just about helping a friend or did you hear something you liked when your friend was telling you about his situation? Or maybe it’s something you heard him say to his partner, hm?” She tilted her head, watching him, reading him.

This time he did move, though not consciously. “There it is. Come on Stevie, I can’t help you if you don’t help me. What’s really got you turned around on this?” She lowered her voice and placed her beer on the floor. “I won’t judge you, that’d be pretty hypocritical and also a bad friend move. As much as you want to help your friend, I want to help you.”

Steve drained the last of his drink, cleared his throat and kept his eyes focused on a spot on the wall just to the right of Natasha’s face. “I don’t really want things I can’t have, you know? Life’s done a pretty good job so far of showing me the leading edge of what’s possible before tipping over to impossible. But after hearing Sam on the phone and getting his take on “alternative” relationships and how lots of guys like us who come home from wars need a different way of connecting, I wanted.”

He shifted his eyes to the rug on the living room floor, avoiding looking at his first of two friends left in the world. “I don’t know what I wanted, exactly, but I _wanted_. I’ve only felt like that a few times in my life and those circumstances aren’t repeatable or replaceable. Yeah, I want to be a good friend for my friend, show him I’m in his corner, that I’ve got his back like he’s had mine, but I’m also feeling like I need to know and I don’t want to wait for him to get home again, whenever that happens.”

When Steve finally looked up again and made himself look Natasha square in the face, he had to blink a few times to make sure the beers hadn’t clouded his vision. Natasha wore the same slow, easy smile that she favored when she had her target in her sights and knew she was going to have plenty of time to play with her prey before going in for the kill.

“Steven, Steven, Steven. My friend, we are going to have so many things to discuss, and so much fun. You’ve no idea.”


End file.
